I want to be writing a blog post, but not tonight. I'm immersed in final revisions, and the cold, remorseless serial killer feelings that come out of being the ultimate author of a character's fate (and knowing that I have to hurt the character because otherwise it wouldn't be a story) are coming out.
Now is not the time for speaking calmly about life and justice. Now is the time to turn keystrokes into flinty daggers.
It will hurt the character, but it will also hurt me. In the end, the stained bandages will be art.